


Proud of you

by ninastirith



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, also this was a bday fic for my friend tova shes the best in the world, pride spirit fic u guys happy pride month that's already passed, this is a bill/happiness fic honestly, which is what we all want and need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 08:41:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninastirith/pseuds/ninastirith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange to want new things. Strange to feel like they could really be his, after all this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proud of you

It all feels really strange - the passing of time so evident. Last year was last year and the year before is a blur, it’s funny how that happens. How everything fades into a background of missed opportunities and lucky chances. What did you do last year? What did you not do, turning away at flyers on street corners, laughing to cover up the flush of shame on your face?

To Bill, it feels strange to think that those flyers call out to him. After all, he’s rooted here now, not ever going back as long the palm trees offer this much obscurity. He belongs to this city and its streets stretched thin. And yet, the skinny, tacky font at the top of various posters for pride events around LA sting his eyes. He couldn’t, could he? It’s too soon, or too late or a mixture of both and above all else, Bill has convinced himself he’s comfortable enough as it is. Vague references, generalizations that mean nothing to anyone but still make him feel the ice crack and waver beneath him when he speaks them. “Love who loves you back”. “Love knows no gender or religion”. And people nod and smile and his hands are still sweating from what he believes and nurtures so deeply.

He supposes “comfortable” might just be the polar opposite to what he’s feeling.

It’s a beautiful day - hot and quiet in the hills. Bill lights a cigarette and leans against the wall on the balcony, sighing and blowing out smoke at once. Everything has changed so quickly - through the glass door, he can make out the thick bed covers heaving and sinking with the pace of his brother’s breath. Funny how time works with minutes and hours and days, how that goes into the work they do. Punctual, according to schedule, meetings and releases and places to be, people to meet. Bill makes sure to only measure the time he shares with Tom in touch and words and kissing sweat beads off temples and swearing to never leave. It works - and it works for making him feel even more estranged by this new yearning.

Of course Bill is proud of who he is. He is his pride, his strength, his confidence. Bill knows he exudes it. He just wasn’t prepared to wake up one morning and feel like directing this pride towards sexuality.

It’s been years of hiding, secret relationships and trying to handle feelings he should never ever have. Years of lying to people he doesn’t know, years of the heaviness of slurs and labels on his back. This past year a year of finally coming home, of being with Tom. He’s come together, finally. The real pride soars through Bill, tears him apart every time he sees him nowadays. It’s not just that, though. It’s also the nagging feeling that being okay with not belonging isn’t for anyone over the age of 25.

He puts the cigarette out and is startled by the sound of the balcony door opening. Tom’s arms wrap around him, soft and warm as he kisses his cheek from behind.

“Morning,” Tom mumbles.

His breath still smells of sleep and his voice is gravelly - sometimes, it reminds Bill of when they were kids, hearing and seeing each other in this state all the time. It’s what they’re supposed to do. What they’re supposed to be.

“Morning,” he says back, leaning against his brother’s chest for a second. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

Tom lets go of him, reaching for the cigarette pack on the table to light one.

“Mhmm?” he murmurs around orange end of the cigarette, hands cupped around the lighter flame for a second or two.

When he exhales a cloud of smoke that obscures his face slightly, Bill clears his throat and says:

“Why don’t we walk in the parade this year?”

Confusion riddles Tom’s face at the same time as Bill starts regretting that he said anything. Is it really that important? Is it really that big of a deal, isn’t it just gonna be messy and pointless?

“What parade?” Tom asks. Sleep is still so evident in his movements and slurred words. Bill catches himself feeling lucky to be the one who gets to see him like this.

“The pride parade,” Bill says. “I mean, not because we’re… together. I just think it might be fun.”

Tom’s eyes narrow at him as he takes a drag of his cigarette. A memory flashes through Bill’s head suddenly - a string of them, actually. The first girl he kissed. The first boy he kissed, years later, knowing David would buy his silence later. That night he and Andreas probably won’t ever talk about. Making out under the stairs in a strobe light riddled club, the lunch date with Alex right before everything fell apart in the worst way possible. How his stomach didn’t stop turning for ten years, heavy with repressed feelings until that night after the after party in Russia when he suddenly wasn’t scared anymore.

He has a right to be proud of every one of those things. He’s been whole for a while now.

Tom speaks.

“Do you wanna go?”

Bill nods.

“I really do. It feels right,” he says, hoping the weight of his words won’t get lost.

“You’ve never been to one before,” Tom remarks. “Me either. Do you know how they work? Do I…”

He trails off and Bill shakes his head.

“You can just go as someone who supports me, that’s fine.”

An apologetic expression flickers across Tom’s face before he shrugs and says:

“Sure, why not. If you want to, I’m in.”

He goes in for a kiss, pressing his lips softly to Bill’s own. The sun drenches them in heat, the world a red nothing of comfort to his closed eyes. It’s the little things.

Like being kissed, although he reeks of smoke and sweat. Like knowing that the lack of words truly means there is nothing to worry about.

“When is it?” Tom asks, holding Bill’s hand casually although it doesn’t feel casual at all.

“The day after tomorrow. I’ll look everything up, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay.” Another soft kiss - Bill used to think about them as beautiful gems to collect before he realized that what we collect, we have to fear losing.

“Proud of you,” Tom says sincerely. “I’m gonna make coffee, I’ll be downstairs.”

Bill turns his face to the sun again, listening to himself breathing evenly in and out. It’s strange, all this. How belonging is between two people, or two million people.

  
  


In a way, Bill considers himself to have missed out on all of that. Community really isn’t for people like him or Tom or anyone famous, really - to him, it requires equal treatment within the community and that hasn’t happened since they were both written off as outcasts with the other outcasts back in school. He’s missed out on friendship and boy talk and having each other’s backs. 

Tom is different, of course. It’s all-encompassing and wondrous and Bill doesn’t think he could love or need anyone more if he tried, but he’s been waking up feeling as if he can’t breathe a little too often lately. They talk about that, quiet conversations with hands close together but not touching between them - if their lives could be just the two of them, maybe they’d choose that. Regardless, the secrets are heavier than Bill thought they would be. It’s harder than he thought to be in love with Tom outside of his own head and shame. And it’s not everything he is. 

Muttering and singing absentmindedly, Bill assorts the tiny vials on the bathroom sink. Natalie brought them by, all smiles and support although he didn’t tell her what big of a deal this whole thing had come to be before and after setting the event in stone. He didn’t have to, the two of them having been too close for too long for her not to know when something really matters. She’d handed them all over, then asked if he’d need her help. He had kindly declined. If he’s going to do this, he wants to do it right.

Like he’d have done it at 14, 15, somewhere back then when he missed his shot. At least he sees it that way. 

With fumbling, uncertain fingers, Bill starts slowly braiding his fringe away from his face. It gets messy and lumpy given the distortion of the mirror turning his movements all around and he swears quietly, redoes it two or three times before it looks right. Then one on the other side. His hair is long now - with a bobby pin, he secures the braid ends on the back of his head. 

He looks like an elf. Face wide, forehead and temples exposed, his eyes appear elongated and his face less square, more ethereal. With a frown, Bill reaches for two of the vials on the sink - the ones with the crimson and orange glitters in them. Looking good has been taken from him and used against him so many times that he doesn't know how to face it anymore. 

He applies a messy line of red glitter across his cheek, then an orange to follow beneath it. They almost blend together and there are flecks of both glitters all over him now. 

"Fuck," he mumbles. 

“Need help?”

With a soft creak of the door, Tom enters the bathroom and looks at him, then at the glitter, then back. Bill rolls his eyes, collecting the still sealed and untouched vials in his hands. 

“Fix this mess, Tom, please! I don’t remember how to do this stuff anymore.” 

Tom laughs quietly and obeys, taking the glitters from his brother. Bill watches as he pours a tiny amount of the golden yellow glitter into his cupped palm. For a second, he catches the digits spelling out Tom’s birth time on the back of his hand as he dips his index finger in the sparkles. 

“Okay, stay still now,” he says softly. “Right under the orange, yeah?” 

Bill nods and tries not to move or squirm as Tom gently pats the glitter across his cheek. It takes a few re-taps of the ounce in his palm until it’s finished, but then it is there and the flag design is slowly coming together. As he starts patting a line of emerald glitter in place, Tom says: 

“This kind of reminds me of back in the day, you know, when you’d do your eyeliner yourself.” He smiles. “Just because you liked how it made you look.” 

The nostalgia. It had been present all morning, had had Bill writhing inside trying to contain and understand the fluctuating feelings of joy and rediscovery and loss. He thought of cheap eyeliner pencils he’d borrowed from mum, and running home to avoid after school beatings over the way he’d done himself up. He remembered how everyone had kept telling him he’d be left alone if he just… toned it down a little. Everyone, but Tom. 

“I miss wearing makeup all the time sometimes,” Bill admits. “But it’s just….” 

“... in the past,” Tom says. 

Bill sighs. 

“Yeah.” 

Tom interrupt himself for a second, narrowing his eyes to inspect his work. With his fingertips, he guides Bill by the chin from side to side to see the glitter under the bright bathroom lights. 

“It looks pretty good, just one more to go now.” 

“You want any?” Bill asks his brother, closing his eyes while Tom puts the purple glitter flecks in place.

Tom is quiet for a second. 

“Thanks, but no. You look beautiful, though.” 

Bill turns to look in the mirror and there he is again, wide eyed and flushed and with the face decoration noticeably improved. Tom is right - he does look beautiful. With excitement and relief, he also realizes this: He feels like he will belong. It’s not about some glitter or braids, not at all. And it sure as hell isn’t about looking pretty. It’s about the effort. The breaking of the barrier he put up for himself so damn long ago. No one has helped him tear it down, and it dawns on him now that he had to do it for himself. He’s only just starting, but it’s happening. 

He’s ready to go to Pride.

Tom comes up behind him, takes his hand and rests his chin on Bill’s shoulder. 

“You really do. I know how much this means to you, and it does to me, too,” he says, his voice full of intent and warmth.

Bill laughs: “I’d kiss you, but I’ll put off ruining your hard work until after the parade.” 

Tom laughs with him and they stand there, chuckling until both their voices fade out. 

“I love you,” Tom says sincerely, meeting Bill’s gaze in the mirror. 

“Thanks,” Bill teases, laughing as Tom tickles his side in response. 

He seeks Tom’s eyes in the mirror again and when he finds them he sighs, taking Tom’s hand in his. 

“I’m so glad you’re doing this with me, you know? I know it’s not that big of a deal or that maybe it shouldn’t be, but -” 

“Hey,” Tom interrupts, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay. Of course it’s a big deal. It’s a big deal for me too, like I said. You know I’m not very… outgoing, but it’s still important and I want to be there for you as well.” 

“I wish I could have done this earlier, that’s all. Chosen to be part of something just a little earlier.” 

“I know.” Tom kisses his shoulder softly. “You were always so independent. I almost wished you had somewhere where you felt you belonged, besides -” 

“Besides you,” Bill smiles. 

His brother nods. 

“I’m just one person. I can’t be your community, you know? I hope this will feel as good for you as you want it to.” 

Turning around to kiss Tom on the mouth, full of gratitude, Bill says: 

“I’m convinced it will. Come on now, we gotta go if we want to avoid the worst traffic.” 

 

 

Sometimes, long periods of time pass and you change with the seasons and masses and your friends and the places you go. You never catch change straight on, twisting and tweaking you into your next you, but it happens. Suddenly, the grey clouds don’t keep you inside anymore - you enjoy the feeling of the rain against your skin to make you feel soft and new again, because life has worn you out. You welcome the things that make you feel new. You think you’ve seen it all, but you realize - most of the time, with relief - that the truth is the opposite of that. 

There is always more to see. There is always more of yourself to nurture and celebrate. 

It’s scorching hot in central LA and the crowd, packed and loud and sweaty, does its part. Thanks to friends of friends of Bill’s friends, the two of them got invited to walk with some rebranding night club. There is a massive banner, loud music and more men wearing only short shorts than Bill’s ever seen in one place before. It’s awkward at first, he’ll admit. Too loud, so many people crowding the sidewalks to look at the parade.

All the looking, staring, it almost sets him off, sends him stomping back to the car with Tom’s hand tightly in his own - what do they think they’re doing, treating him like some kind of zoo animal? He’s had way too much of that treatment. God he’s close. So, so close to not enjoying this one bit.

The feeling of being an intruder creeps up on him and he hates it, pushes it away as good as he can. He looks at Tom, who’s smiling and walking with his hands in his pockets. His brother is completely relaxed as they walk down the streets with the noisy crowd, sun in their eyes and feathers from boas of all colours whirling past from the block in front of them. 

With a feeling that slowly sets everything into place, Bill turns his face to the sun and closes his eyes for just a second. He lingers for a moment in the feeling of the glitter specks against his skin as he forces a smile, the alarming red of the inside of his eyelids. A song he actually knows and loves starts playing in the sound system. He looks at Tom and guides them both backwards in the block to get some space. 

It’s getting better. It’s getting better, feeling better. He hums a line or two, then full on sings them and he catches Tom’s smile widening as he does it. A couple walking just in front of them, two boys holding hands, share a quick kiss and then one of them turns around. He sings the following line to Bill with the happiest expression on his face and then they both sing, yell, the chorus together. The pure joy hits Bill like a train with no headlights, he sees it around him in the people, the colours, the glistening summer air. 

It’s pride season, and he’s here, being proud, celebrating. 

“Tom,” he says in an eager voice, looking straight at his brother: “I’m supposed to be here.” 

He takes himself in in the reflection on Tom’s sunglasses, his braided hair and glitter and wide, now genuine smile. Every single fear he has ever harboured in his life feels so distant they might never have been real. It’s strange, all this, and in the best way. Strange to think there are places and people who will let him belong just by being himself.

With no regards for the implications, he reaches for Tom’s hand.

Tom takes it steadily. 

“You really, really are,” he says, squeezing Bill’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this x


End file.
